


Cempasúchil

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Acceptance, Coping with Death, Day of the Dead, M/M, PTSD, coming to terms, healing fic, in which ardyn is a little creepy but it's mostly on accident, still one should not talk to strangers on the road, strangely for me nothing overwhelmingly bad happens, this is about rest not redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: In Mexican tradition, people die three deaths. The first is the death of the soul, the second, the decay of the body, and the third, the death that occurs when nobody remembers your name any longer.Unfortunately, Prompto never forgot Ardyn's name. And just what import this carries is made apparent decades later, when his son makes a curious new friend at the crossroads.





	Cempasúchil

**Author's Note:**

> A healing fic, of sorts, written to celebrate the Day of the Dead.
> 
> Thank you [LadyProto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyProto/pseuds/LadyProto) for helping me with pretty much every major point of Mexican and Appalachian culture.
> 
> Also, this is my first fic written in American English instead of British. It fits better with the setting.

Cempasúchil

 

Cas pushed the wooden fence aside on its rusty hinge, making enough of a gap for him and Pomona to slip through. With a bit of luck, they’d be gone and nobody would notice. Just a little further …

            ‘Cassander? Pomona? Now where'd you youngins run off to?’

            Damn.

            Cas froze. Pomona had already slipped through and was urging him to follow, her dark locks bouncing about her face as she shook her head. A silent request. _Don’t answer!_

            He considered it, but he stayed his hand. Sighed. Turned back, answered the call. ‘Yeah, mom?’

            An old yet sprightly figure stepped out the front door, came to judge him where he snuck round the side of the house. Her graying blonde curls hung about her cheekbones as she crossed her arms, stared at him.

            ‘Cassander Aurum – What in the name of heaven do you think you're doing up and running down the road like that? You two get back here fore I jerk a knot in your tail!’

            He avoided her eyes by glancing back at the warm light radiating through the window. The low murmur of adults talking filled the air, all serious and dour.

            ‘Mom, it’s just so _boring_ in there. _Pleease.’_

            A sigh, and his mother’s expression softened.

‘All right, but only cause your father’s being ornery. Don't be running too far now, there's a storm blowing up.’

            He nodded. Then, voices from inside the warm house. ‘Cindy?’ ‘Everything okay?’ His mother turned her attentions away, and Cas took the initiative to leave, looping his leg through the narrow slat in the fence and joining Pomona where she waited on the dusty roadside.

            ‘Well, let’s go.’

            His friend’s face lit up. ‘Yeah!’

            So he kicked his legs into gear, and she did the same, and within seconds he had to run faster to catch up with her. Typical Amicitia family; they were always better at everything.

            Down the track from Hammerhead they went, following the streetlights until they came to the gritty path through the grasslands. Here, the ground became more uneven, covered in rubbly rock and clumps of low, prickly shrubs, and they slowed their pace until they were walking, taking in the cool night air, feeling the gentle brush of buzzing insects against their skin. Cas didn’t bother to swipe them away - nothing was going to bite him, anyway, no matter how much his parents panicked. It was so dumb. He’d never even seen as much as a mosquito in his life, let alone a _daemon_.

            Mom and dad really did come from a different world.

            Cas thought back to the somber scene in his parents’ sitting room. His father, by the fireside, glass of hard liquor in hand, face a picture of melancholy. Speaking all low and sad, and it always came back to the same old thing. That dark shadow of a man, the one he said ruined his life all those years ago. The one that always came back to haunt him. And right enough, how haunted his father looked whenever he spoke of it. It was such a long time ago now, and it was … it was almost pathetic, seeing those wide, mournful eyes, feeling the ambience of the room turn sour when Dad started to talk about _torture_ and _murder_ and all manner of things not appropriate for normal conversation.

            It was the reason he and Pomona had been itching to get outdoors. Continuing the Leiden treasure hunt, after all, was a far better way to spend their time. But still, he felt like he had to apologize. So he tapped Pomona on the shoulder. Bright hazel eyes turned his way, shining in the moonlight.

            ‘Yeah?’

            ‘Sorry. Dad always gets like that after a few drinks.’

            ‘S’okay.’ Pomona shrugged. ‘I guess my dad kinda does the same.’

            _Not like mine,_ Cas thought, although he didn’t say it.

            ‘And anyway,’ Pomona continued, ‘least he’s not talking about frogs all the time like my mom.’

            ‘Hah! True.’

            Within minutes they reached the Three Valleys crossroads. The moon was high over the rocky outcrops, so it must have been close to midnight. Roadside still and silent in the chill evening air.

            Cas paused. Hadn’t old Mr. Ghiranze once said something about the devil waiting at the crossroads? _With his duster coat and his red right hand_. That was how he said it, right?

            But then, Mr. Ghiranze claimed all sorts of things. Once said he’d been eaten by daemons and came back right as rain. How true were any of his stories, really? Daemons weren’t real, at least, not any more.

            And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave.

            Pomona shivered, fishing a woolen hat from her coat pocket and pulling the thing over her tight black curls. ‘Caaaas, why have we stopped?’

            He blinked. He didn’t know.

            ‘You’re not _scared_ , are you?’ She sniggered and playfully shoved his shoulder.

            ‘No!’

            ‘Well then. Let’s go.’

            ‘’Kay, just … gimme a minute.’ He stepped closer to the sign at the crossroads. For some reason, he wanted to look closer. The words scratched into the splintered wood, it reminded him of something. A memory, or maybe a dream he’d once had.

            ‘Cas! Ugh _…’_ Pomona gave up. ‘I’m going on to the shack.’

            ‘Fine,’ he muttered, staying focused on the sign as her footsteps receded on the gravel. Didn’t matter. He’d catch up with her later.

            He continued reading. _Longwythe peak - 2 km. Hammerhead - 1 km. Prairie Outpost -_

            A voice interrupted him then, low and rumbling and saccharine.

            ‘Ah, young love.’

            ‘Wait, what?’ Cas wheeled on his ankle. There was a shadow of a man behind him, tall and imposing, taking up space on the narrow prairie road. He blinked. Pomona was out of earshot now, her silhouette bouncing away against the moonlit sky. He called out to her anyway, and oblivious, she continued walking. He shivered, turned back to the stranger, taking in his dark clothes, his wide hat, his flyaway hair and grim, yet inexplicably friendly countenance. There was a scent sweet like sugar and sour like decay hanging in the air, a bit like that incense Aunty Sania used, what was it - _sandalwood? -_ and for a second Cas wondered if this mysterious stranger was really there or not. Could just be a figment of his imagination. Not like he hadn’t been thinking too hard on spooks and devils and daemons and such. Whatever. Blame Dad. He turned away again, foot shifting in the dust, wondering if he should run after Pomona or not.

            ‘Well now, what’s the rush?’ The man raised a fine, dark eyebrow in question.

            ‘We’re, uh, looking for treasure.’ _Not gonna add that we’re just doing it to get out of a family gathering. Of sorts._ This man could think he was more immature than he actually was, that was fine. He didn’t like to trust strangers. Although, there was something so intimately familiar about this man. It was strange. So he asked him back, ‘What about you?’

            ‘Oh, it’s down on to the crossroads for me.’

            _You’re already here,_ Cas thought. But instead of telling him so, he kicked his foot idly in the dust and said, ‘All right. Why?’

            ‘There’s a deal I have to make.’ The stranger did not elaborate, and Cas thought that fair enough. He’d only just met him after all. But it was odd, coming all the way out here for such a thing. Treasure hunting, now _that_ made sense.

            ‘Uh. Wouldn’t it be better to meet whoever it is in Hammerhead? It’s warmer.’

            At this, the man snorted, although the gesture was not derogatory. ‘Alas, these things must be done at the proper place and time.’ He was quite a charismatic fellow, and Cas felt a flush of … something. Comfort, perhaps. He still didn’t entirely trust the man, but he decided he quite liked him. And so, he asked.

            ‘Who even are you, anyway?’

            ‘Me?’ A smile tugged at the man’s lower lip, curling up his cheeks like calligraphy. ‘Oh, I am nothing much.’ But because this answer didn’t look like it would satisfy Cas, he added, ‘Well, I suppose you can call me El Calavera.’ And the smile flourished into a grin, and the pockmarked hollows of his eye sockets deepened in shadow, and he looked very much like one of those skulls Aunty Sania liked to decorate the house with at this time of year.

            Cas nodded.

            If only he would stop smiling like that. It was unnerving.

            He remembered Aunty Sania reading from those old library books he loved so much. The ones on the Astrals from continents far, far away, those beings that were so very different from the Six they worshipped in Lucis. _I am become death,_ one of those strange gods had once said _._

This man was death.

            ‘And now you know me,’ El Calavera murmured, before delving inside his long coat and retrieving a … what was that? A flower? Cas stared, but the man continued talking and that sweet honeyed voice stole all his attention once more. ‘So it’s only fair I ask who _you_ are.’

            ‘’M Cas Aurum,’ he mumbled, and his words slurred, because suddenly it felt like a powerful thing, the giving of a name. The result was a mishmash of syllables, and it was a wonder El Calavera picked up anything at all.

            ‘Cas … Argentum?’

            Well, that was uncanny.

            ‘What? No. Aurum. Argentum’s my, uh, father’s name but he …’ Cas tried to control the deep furrow creasing his brow. Suddenly it didn’t seem wise to talk too much about his father. No idea why. He was confused, but then perhaps the man had heard the surname somewhere before. Maybe it was too common. Maybe that was why his father didn’t like to use it.

            ‘Is it, now? From silver to gold, oh, how curious.’ The words spilled like fine liquor from El Calavera’s mouth, and a soft wind blew across the plains, and somewhere far in the distance, Cas fancied he could hear bones knocking in the breeze.

            It made him feel uncomfortable, so he looked back at the sunshine-colored flower that El Calavera still twirled between finger and thumb.

            ‘What is that?’

            ‘Cempasúchil,’ El Calavera said softly. He stared at the flower, far too fondly, thumbed a petal before tucking the vibrant bloom behind Cas’s ear. ‘Bright as the sun. Just like your hair.’

            This made Cas feel a little too self-conscious, and he pushed the errant strands of hair back behind his ear, careful not to dislodge the sunshine-colored flower.

            ‘Tell me, child. Do you enjoy the sun?’

            He nodded. ‘Dad says there never used to be any when he was younger.’

            ‘No,’ said El Calavera, and his smile fell to a frown. ‘No, there never used to be. But, see, that’s why this flower is so very important, you know. It’s a sign of love, one that lasts through the darkness, fiery as the sun’s rays. It always comes back.’

            If this had been Pomona talking, Cas would have snorted. Sounded so sappy. But he didn’t dare do so in front of this man. He merely nodded. And now, the man leaned back on the wayfarer’s post, and hummed a jaunty tune, eyes flickering in the direction of Hammerhead, all a-sparkle, and Cas couldn’t figure out _why_ , but then he recognized the tune, and that distracted him entirely. The melody wormed its way into the heady November air.

            Cas stared. He stared so hard he must have looked bug-eyed.

            ‘How on earth do you know the chocobo song?’

            El Calavera fixed him with an expression both hard and kind, and he said,

            ‘How do _you_ know it, dear Cas?’

            Cas twisted his fingers behind his back.

            ‘My … my dad taught me. He, uh, he loves that song.’

            ‘Of course he does.’

            Something about the way he said it made Cas’s stomach drop. His head swam, as if he’d taken a sly sip of his father’s whiskey and now had to deal with the throbbing consequences. He knew he was still standing upright, but for a moment it was as though he was falling through an endless chasm, with no way to tell what was up or down. El Calavera seemed to realize this, because he straightened his wide-brimmed hat atop his head and patted down his voluminous coat. A sigh, and a lingering look on down the road.

            ‘Well, now, _angelito_ , I must be on my way. The crossroads grow ever more narrow, and the night is waning.’

            Just like that, the man was gone, dissolved into shadows like faint morning mist. Cas rubbed his eyes, looked around in earnest, but no, there was nothing there. Maybe he really had just imagined the whole thing.

 

Pomona wasn’t impressed by the time Cas rocked up to the shack.

            ‘Where on earth were you?’

            Cas tried to tell her, ‘I was only at the crossroads,’ but she talked over him.

            ‘I went all the way back to the intersection and you weren’t there! I thought you’d run off!’

            This surprised him. He’d been there, talking to his new friend, for a fair while. Right in the middle of the road, too. No way could she have missed it.

            ‘And what’s that in your hair?’

            Oh. He raised a hand to his ear, felt the stem of the flower sticking out. So _that_ was real, at the very least.

            He told her about El Calavera, and by the time he had finished regaling the tale, Pomona’s dark face was near-on white with fright.

            ‘That … sounds like the bogeyman or something. We, uh, we should go back.’

            She didn’t usually look so worried. Cas bit down his response, _‘Oh, he wasn’t that bad, he was kinda cool actually,’_ and back they went, and this time the shadows on the moonlight vista seemed longer, greater, more _alive._

Walking into Hammerhead with the cempasúchil flower in his hair may have been the worst decision Cas had ever made in his life. First, his mother came out to greet him, and her initial expression was one of joy (‘Now where’d ya find such a right pretty flower?’), but when he told her neither him nor Pomona had found it, her bright eyes darkened, and she ushered them both inside.

            Cas didn’t think it possible for his father’s face to grow any more solemn, but it did, the instant he saw the flower. Dark blond brows growing more angular, hand twitching as the whiskey glass jolted away from his mouth. A small dribble of liquor trickling down that graying bearded chin.

            ‘That’s a … Cas, where’ve you been? Who did you …’ The sentence slurred to a stop, and his father’s lower lip trembled. Uncle Gladio and Aunty Sania shifted in their seats, before getting up and leading old Mr. Ghiranze into the kitchen under the pretense of getting more drinks. Cas felt the awkwardness hang in the air like a noose.

            ‘I … I went to the Three Valleys with Pomona. We were only going treasure hunting, it wasn’t dangerous. He …’

            ‘Who? Who did you meet?’

            His father’s eyes were like flame now, all fired up and stormy. Cas gulped.

            ‘He - he said his name was El … El Calavera.’

            His mother frowned, then leaned over and whispered something in his father’s ear.

            ‘Did he tell you why he was here?’ His father spoke slowly, treading over each syllable with as much care as a tightrope walker.

            ‘Y-yeah. Said there was some deal he had to make.’

            His father’s face turned white as a sheet, and his mother immediately started rubbing those tense, aching shoulders. Cas felt awful. He hadn’t done anything _bad_ , had he?

            Evidently his upset was showing on his face, because his mother got up and hugged him. ‘C’mon, now. S’okay, sweetie.’ She steered him towards the corridor, patting his back comfortingly. ‘Time to call it a night, I think. Sania? Pomona’s all right sleeping in Cas’s room, huh? Poor youngins plum tuckered out.’

            An agreement, yelled back from the kitchen, and his mom nodded. ‘Right. You kids go get ready for bed, ‘kay? And please, Cas. That flower’s mighty fine, but take it out of your hair round your father.’

 

The clock had long since ticked over midnight, and the bottle was resting dry on the mantelpiece. With a sigh, Prompto heaved himself out of his fireside chair and straightened his aching back, catching his reflection in the window only to give himself a withering grimace.

            Why tonight? When he had been so long living in freedom.

            But then, he had never really been free, had he? The dreams had always followed him.

            He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Fixed his shirt where the ends had creased, and walked with as much poise as he could muster towards the door. A soft kiss on Cindy’s sweet lips while she busied herself with clearing up the remnants of the night’s festivities. A mumbled apology for not helping, one which was quickly shushed by her too-kind and forgiving mouth. _Don’t you worry yourself about that, darling._ Another kiss followed. He really felt like he didn’t deserve it.

            He told her he wouldn’t be long. Said _He’s not gonna hurt me_ , to which she replied _I know, but you take care anyways._

           

As Prompto had expected, he was waiting near the crossroads. The hat a dead giveaway, the ridiculous embroidered edges of that coat fluttering in the breeze, the scent like ritual incense filling the air. Nothing ever seemed to change. He mustered his courage, stilled his trembling nerves, and sat down next to him on the coarse sandstone.

            Amber eyes met his own, and the voice he remembered so well spilled from those lips like treacle.

            ‘You didn’t bring your gun.’

            ‘There’s no point. You’re dead.’ Prompto spoke blandly, although inside his heart was racing. It was so strange, being torn between cold, raw fear and utter exhaustion. He was so _done_ with all of this.

            He wasn’t the only one. His companion sighed deeply, and stretched his arms out languidly.

            ‘El Calavera,’ Prompto said, a small laugh tainting the edges of the phrase.

            ‘Well, I was hardly going to tell him my real name. What, you don’t like it?’

            ’Nah, it’s fine. Fitting.’ A pause, then Prompto took on a sterner tone. ‘Don’t talk to my son again, though. Any business you have is with _me_.’

            ‘In all truth, I never expected to meet him there. He’s going to grow into a fine young man. Almost as fine as you.’

            ‘Seriously.’ The unspoken command. _Stop._ And thankfully, he did, settling for picking idly at the hem of his scarf instead. A silence fell, and for an awful moment Prompto was back in Niflheim, in his cell in the grimy, forgotten darkness, and his veins throbbed and his heart ached and his every tendon strained as if trying to escape his body.

            He had to ask. Which meant asking _properly._ Which meant using the name.

            He had to.

            A cloud crossed the moon. Wind picked up then fell again. Prompto rubbed his hands together anxiously. Took a deep breath.

            ‘Ardyn. What are you doing here?’

            The name rose in the air like a prayer and Ardyn flashed those eyes towards him, reveled in the delight of it.

            ‘You say I’m dead,’ he began, and Prompto felt sick. ‘You say I’m dead, but, my dear, death is far more complicated than that.’

            ‘Always is, when it comes to you.’

            ‘Dear Sania must have told you - she knows about that sort of thing, doesn’t she? About the three deaths a person experiences. Oh, come now, don’t look so confused. You already know that first the spirit leaves one’s body. Then one’s body leaves this mortal plane - it’s buried, cremated, done with as one wishes. But finally - and here it lies, the crucial point. Finally, one is forgotten about. You know, a soul can only die fully once nobody on this earth remembers what they were like any more. Legends … they hardly count. But those who knew them _in the flesh_ , so to speak, they’re the ones that keep us hanging on.’

            Ardyn lowered his eyes, gravitating inches closer to Prompto but not touching, never touching, no. The time for that was past.

            ‘ _You_ never forgot about me. So, regrettably … I’m still here.’

            _No. Oh god, no._ Realization hit Prompto like a freight train.

            ‘I would very much like to die properly now.’

            Prompto leaned in to his knees, rubbed his forehead with his hands. Sucked in air like a deep diver. And now tears pricked his eyes, all tart and sour and he felt grit mix in with it in the rising wind and he didn’t know what to _do_ or _say._ He had drunk a lot that evening - it wasn’t too hard to imagine that this was all yet another bad dream. Sad dream, more like.

            ‘I want that, too,’ he settled for saying. He didn’t want to apologize to the man, but he felt it coming, and he felt powerless to stop it. His breath choked up. ‘I’m … I’m sorry. I want to forget.’

            And now, the unthinkable, as this specter of his chaotic past shrouded his shoulders in a warm embrace. A soft, calming noise, like a gentle whistling. Was Ardyn … was Ardyn shushing him?

            He sobbed. There wasn’t much else he could do.

            ‘What I want,’ said Ardyn, ‘is for you to let me die when you do. It doesn’t have to be now, my dear, don’t rush your way toward the grave. But eventually, your time will come. And when that happens, let me die. Don’t pass it on.’

            He would have asked _Why not say this to Gladio, too?_ But he already knew the answer. Gladio still remembered Ardyn, for sure, but he had forgotten what it was _like_ now, and that seemed to be the key. Prompto could still feel it, thick on his skin, every single day cloying up through his throat, his hair, like spiders’ legs. He still needed the liquor to drown it out. He was a train-wreck of a man, and how messed-up it was that _that_ was why Ardyn couldn’t rest.

            _Gods._

            ‘I was planning on it,’ Prompto said, forcing the words out thickly. ‘I don’t want … ugh, I don’t want anyone to suffer any more.’

            Ardyn drew back from his shoulders, and his gaze was warm and soft, almost caring, a picture of what the Healer King might have once been before the Scourge took hold all those years ago. A tease of a smile, but this time there was no wryness to it. It was genuine.

            ‘Well then, I shall bother you no longer. I bid you farewell.’

            And just like that, his tormentor of ages past disappeared, leaving nothing but sand and wind and the shadows carved by moonlight in his wake.

 

It took Prompto an eternity to make it back home. But when he did, he paused in the kitchen for the longest time, because Cassander had taken that flower out of his hair and tucked it behind the bread-bin, probably in an attempt to hide it from his view. Bless the kid. Prompto picked up the beautiful golden bloom, and spent far too long examining its velvety petals while his mind raced through the decades. For a moment he felt so helplessly alone. Unable to share his burden.

            In the sitting room, he could hear Gladio, Sania and Dino talking. Upstairs, Cindy, urging the kids to brush their teeth. Everything was so vividly, obnoxiously _alive_ , and it seemed so lurid in comparison to the shadowed place he was trying to claw his way out of.

            He sighed. Drummed his fingers on the countertop. Then decided to go back and join the others. He’d make do, and maybe one day he would forget.


End file.
